


i hear love

by izzyasavestheday (stilessexual)



Series: echo [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilessexual/pseuds/izzyasavestheday
Summary: “Right,” Raphael brought himself to his feet, smooth as anything. “Let’s go.”Simon gapped up at him, “Go where?”Raphael rolled his eyes, impressively, (like he didn’t care, like he didn’t care about Simon, but he was here and they both knew neither of them could ever stop caring no matter how much they continued to hurt one another) and heaved a spectacular sigh.“Home.”





	i hear love

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd and mostly written while sleep deprived woooo

His mother will die.

Rebecca will die.

Clary will die.

Luke will—

Simon gasped on another hitched breath, and another, and another—

Even immortality doesn’t guarantee life, he thought. The images of his Clan –burned, burned, burned, they’d done nothing, nothing to deserve to die that way, but they burned regardless— pressed to the backs of his eyelids, a forever-print that even Time wouldn’t take back. Pure angel blood won’t protect the ones he loved –not when Clary turned to stone, crying in his arms, what an ending that would have been. He still dreamed of it, Clary Clary Clary, with her fire hair and proud eyes –stone, stone. 

G-d, he’d have never survived that.

He won’t survive outliving them, Simon thought hysterically. He won’t. He doesn’t want to.

He gasped again –he didn’t even need to breathe, how was he having a panic attack? It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s never real. But, there it was, half-was way through before he even realized what was happening, there it was—

“Oh come on,” he exhaled roughly, working his way through it. “Jesus Christ.”

(His unholy body barely allowed him to utter G-d’s name in any language, in any faith. Even Christianity burned his throat on its way out. Why? Why? Why? Why was this body so repulsive in the eyes of the Divine?)

He pressed his hands to the exposed brick of the alley, focusing with all his might on the texture beneath his palms in the herculean effort to distract his mind from the images of everyone he loved flickering behind his clenched lids, dead, dead, dying, they’re all dying— 

 “Simon,” like looking through smoke, like hearing through a body of water, like the light of G-d after an eternity of darkness, Raphael’s face became clear, clear inches away from Simon’s –like a miracle, Simon’s treacherous mind quietly supplied.

(Raphael was a miracle.)

He was already calming down, coming down from it, he knew this, but—

“Don’t touch me,” Simon begged, “Don’t touch me.”

His skin burned, _burned_ –he was still so human, despite the way Death clung to him. 

“Okay,” Raphael nodded, voice low and as soft as velvet. “Okay, fledgling. Tell me what you need.”

Another breath rattled out of Simon’s trembling lips. He gestured vaguely, as best as he could.

“Talk. Just talk.”

A moment of silence, too long, long enough for the panic to find its way back around Simon’s throat—

 “A mundane family moved into the apartment complex by the DuMort,” Raphael murmured. His eyes were steady, steady, steady on Simon. “Their teenage daughter has the Sight. The parents have no idea but the girl, Charlotte, unfortunately witnessed Lily and Stan being very…not human a few days back.”

“Poor kid,” Simon exhaled roughly. He could easily empathize.  

Raphael rolled his eyes fondly, “Nosey kid. She’s been snooping around the hotel. She’s trying to understand what she saw.”

 Simon laughed breathlessly, “Brave kid.”

A small smile tugged at Raphael’s lip and it would’ve been a sight. Such a sight to behold, such a beautiful fucking sight, if it weren’t for the fact that Simon just could not stop shaking.

“Keep talking.”

Raphael hummed softly, “Lily’s been seeing a werewolf and she hasn’t told me about it. I don’t know how she doesn’t think I’ll notice with the stench she’s been carrying around.”

“She wants you to notice. Obviously.”

“Pardon me?”

Simon twisted and heaved his weight back against the alley wall. The moon was bright, bright, bright watching over them. “She wants you to talk to her about it.”

Raphael watched Simon a moment longer—

He was always doing that, wasn’t he?

Watching him?

He hummed, thoughtfully, once more. “Maybe.”

Simon slumped further down the wall and laughed breathily at the way, even in death, his body continued to betray him. Raphael took a careful seat beside him, despite the expensive looking slacks he had on.

“Better?”

“Hardly,” Simon exhaled, honest. “But I’ll be okay. This isn’t new.”

Raphael carefully picked invisible lint off of the sleeve of his shirt and adjusted his cuff links –careful, careful like he was in everything he did. Like he wasn’t sitting next to Simon in a dirty, moonlit alley somewhere in the Bronx. Following his movements, watching him, was a show in and of itself and Simon suddenly missed him like an aching so severe he didn’t know how to swallow it back down. Didn’t know how to exist without the constant reminder of it sore in his weary bones.    

(It was hardly sudden. It was constant. It was forever.)

“What’re you doing here, Simon?”

“Here where?”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “You’re a day walker now, why are you wondering the streets alone at three in the morning? Where are your Shadowhunter friends?”

Simon closed his eyes and turned his face to the moon –she knew, she saw.

(Ignored the way _Shadowhunter_ fell off of Raphael’s lips like poison.)  

“Can’t sleep,” he murmured. “Can’t ever sleep at night and I hate being out in the sun. It makes my skin crawl.”

Raphael made a soft, disbelieving sound.

“I know,” Simon replied, irritable. “G- fuck, shit, I know. So many would kill to have this, but it’s like –like yeah, a fucking miracle, I can _walk_ in the sun but nothing in my body wants to. I can barely fucking function during the day.”

Raphael didn’t make a sound. The silence went on long enough for Simon to turn to face him, questioning –and he’s, beautiful, stunning, still despite everything. Simon couldn’t tell if the breathlessness was the panic attack still taking its toll on him or the sight of Raphael flooring him once more.

“Right,” Raphael brought himself to his feet, smooth as anything. “Let’s go.”

Simon gapped up at him, “Go where?”

Raphael rolled his eyes, impressively, (like he didn’t care, like he didn’t care about Simon, but he was here and they both knew neither of them could ever stop fucking caring no matter how much they continued to hurt one another) and heaved a spectacular sigh. “Home.”

Simon’s mouth worked open and closed until Raphael leaned forward and gently pressed a finger to his chin to press it shut. “Vampires are, by nature you could argue, dramatic. Dramatic and usually dulled by the monotony of living and experiencing the same thing for so long. We didn’t expect you, Simon.”

The moonlight was haloed around Raphael, and despite his nature, Simon’s poor old heart wanted, desperately, to thud at the implication of others’ words.

He cleared his throat, the miracle of Raphael’s existence weighed heavily on him.

(As did his betrayal.)

“I don’t understand,” his voice was too hoarse, too affected.

Raphael straightened up and looked down at Simon, a self-deprecating sort of smile playing at his lips. “It means you are young, by the standards of mundanes and Downworlders alike. We are your family, and, that means—

Raphael seemed to grapple for words,

(No shortage of miracles that night.)

“That means?” Simon pushed, desperate. He stood up slowly and the height difference did nothing, _nothing_ but produce a low, burning ache in his belly. An itch to lean further into Raphael’s space, the space between his shoulder and neck. An itch to touch, touch—

“There’s forgiveness,” Raphael whispered, his voice had taken a heavy, husky quality. “We have a lot to learn but we’ve lost enough. There’s still forgiveness if you’ll have us.”

—and, Jesus, Simon’s hit with a wave of _want_. He wanted stability. He wanted understanding. He wanted the community he could only ever find with the vampires. And well. He wanted love –or, fuck, even the actual potential for it—

(Simon _loved_ Clary. He loved her with everything in him. But the fact of the matter was they were not the same kids they were when he’d first wished them together. Maybe if everything that had happened hadn’t. Maybe if they had never met Jace –Jace who loved Clary so much it was _killing_ him. Maybe if Raphael wasn’t looking at Simon with forgiveness coloring him soft, soft, soft around the edges. Maybe then Simon and Clary wouldn’t have held each other and cried over everything they’d lost. Maybe then they would have had a chance.)

Simon wasn’t stupid. He knew that he and Raphael had begun something, once upon a time, something that felt small and big and so different than anything Simon had ever felt for Clary—

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I’ll have you.”

Raphael jaw worked minutely, strikingly. Simon watched, transfixed, as he swallowed, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed.

 “Okay,” he said. “Good. That’s good.” 

(Half a chance was all Simon was asking for.)

~*~*~*~

Lily saw him first—

“Baby’s back!” She hollered back to the hotel before wrapping Simon in her arms. She peppered him with kisses all over his face and pressed forgiveness into his knuckles. He was shaking, still, the relief of being back where he belonged was very nearly overwhelming.  

Simon wasn’t expecting this. This kindness. This forgiveness.

“Hi,” he laughed, arms tight around her.

Simon wasn’t expecting the number of people that came out to greet him –with love, with forgiveness in their eyes, hands reaching to rub his back, kisses pressed to his cheeks. He loved them. He missed them. His chest warmed and expanded being in the presence of his Clan, finally, but—

He wasn’t expecting to see how many people were missing, either. How many people they’d lost.

(And they haven’t fought the actual battle against Valentine, have they? How many more will they lose? How many more will die? How will they survive the Nephilim’s arrogance?)

“G-fuck,” he choked, his throat burned. Lily pressed her face to his neck and he felt the unmistakable wetness of her tears slide against his skin. “Fuck. I am sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t with you all.”

“You’re here now,” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“No, no. No, listen.” he rasped to their expectant faces. Lily’s arms still tightened around him.  “I’m so sorry for what I did. You all –you trusted me? I just threw it all away and I put everyone in danger. For nothing.”

(Jocelyn’s dead. She’s dead. His mother will die. Rebecca will die. Clary will die. Luke will—

No. No. _No._

Raphael stepped forward, eyes questioning, and something in Simon’s chest loosened. Something gave away.) 

Clara, one of the older vampires in the Clan, came towards them. She’s seen so much that even the boldest of them became quite and small in her presence. In the face of the decades she carried around her shoulders.

“You’re forgiven, love.”

“But, I—

“We’ve lost enough, Simon.” she whispered, firmly. “You’ve atoned time and time again for your sins. We just want you home.”

He can’t help it, can’t help the sob that crawled up from his throat. They gathered around him, pressing him into a giant hug. Hands and lips and whispered words of absolution.

(and there’s Raphael, there’s always Raphael, watching them all with the most openly vulnerable expression on his face. There’s love, and there’s this. This eternity. There’s the way their eyes met and Simon swears, swears on all that is holy and good and pure that he felt his undead heart give a mighty thud.)

One of the Clan members pulls Raphael’s awkward body into their midst and he’s suddenly _there,_ in the middle before Simon even understood what was happening.

They’re pressed against one another and it is good, it is so good.

~*~*~*~

It’s—

It’s not a thing. But it is. It’s a thing. Definitely a thing, being back in with his Clan. Being around Raphael so much. It’s, like, absolutely colossal. Sometimes, late into the afternoon, Simon would stare up at the ceiling and listen to the sound of Raphael pacing the length of his suite –back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Worried at the fate of the Clan, worried sick about things that were not in his control. 

Simon was so, so deeply, and irrevocably in love with the man –it hurt. The good kind of hurt. The best kind. The kind of hurt that people searched their entire lives for and there was Simon, undeserving, yet living it so early in his life. 

(Hoping furiously that he’d hurt this kind of good hurt for the rest of his undead life.)

“Simon,” Raphael stopped abruptly at the entrance to the main kitchen. The sun had only just set and Simon had made his way back from a meeting at the Institute. He didn’t know if the Shadowhunters chose their meeting times during the day to purposely exclude the Clan, but now that Simon was here they couldn’t get away with it regardless.

“Good morning,” Simon smiled fondly at the disheveled sight of him, curls free, still so soft with pillow creases on his cheek.

“’Morning,” Raphael replied carefully. “How was the meeting with the Nephilim?”

Simon gestured vaguely to the notepad that he’d tossed on the table. “I took notes and recorded it but like, it’s like always, you know? They talk in circles about everything that needs to be done but nothing actually gets done and they just speak over the Downworlders instead of listening to us.”

Raphael nodded, unsurprised, still maintaining his position so far away from Simon. “They’re consistent, if anything.”

Simon snorted, easily moving around the kitchen to prepare two warm glasses of blood.

It was quiet. So quiet, but he didn’t feel the anxiety curling around his throat that usually forced him to talk, and talk, and talk— Simon looked up to find Raphael watching him with that same vulnerable expression he’d worn days ago.

“Raphael?” Simon said, stepping closer to him. “You good?”

Raphael blinked, “Yes. Yes, I’m good, thank you.”

Simon gave him a funny look and passed him the glass of blood.

“I’m gonna go write this report while it’s fresh in my head,” he said. “I’ll see you later and we can go through the recording?”

Raphael blinked at the glass of blood in his hand, and then back up at Simon, seemingly bewildered. “Yes, of course.”

Simon carefully maneuvered around Raphael to get out of the kitchen. He made sure that their bodies didn’t press together, no matter how much he wished otherwise, but couldn’t help the way he allowed his hand to linger on Raphael’s hip for a moment, a single moment too long—

Raphael’s sharp inhale stopped him in his track, and they stared into each other’s eyes, too long, Raphael had the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen—

A crash came from one of the bedrooms.

The moment was over.

Simon cleared his throat roughly, “Okay. Cool. I’m gonna go now.”

It was a thing. It was absolutely a thing.

~*~*~*~

“You’re happy,” Clary noted from her perch on his bed.

It’s hard. Looking at her. Even before his enhanced senses, Clary was the brightest light in his life. Now, Simon’s eyes could no longer handle her vivacity –it hurt. They’re not what they once were, in so many more ways than simply his being a vampire or Clary being a Shadowhunter. They’d suffered, so much. There was a certain fragility to the way they spoke to one another now. It was a palpable crack in the foundation of a friendship he’d once thought could handle the end of the universe.

But they were trying. They were trying so hard.

That had to mean something, didn’t it?

“Yeah,” he exhaled (still, still stuck in the habit. like the habit of loving her.) “Yeah, I am.”

Clary watched him with those big green eyes.

“Raphael?”

He laughed loudly, surprised at her frankness, but kept his answer vague –for his sake and for curious ears. “Um, wow. In part, I guess? Big part, probably. Bigger part is being here with the Clan.”

She titled her head, questioning.

“It’s not,” he went on, “it’s not you, Clary. Or Magnus, or anyone else. I know you all tried. So hard. But being here with the Clan? It feels different.”

He tapped his chest absentmindedly –since he’d been back, there’d been a warmth that spread from his ribcage to the very tips of his fingers. It persisted. He didn’t know how he missed it the last time he was here.

“Vampires aren’t solitary,” he went on, rambling now that she was paying so much attention to him. “We can’t be. Which, I mean, the whole idea of it goes completely against the image the media and like, Shadowhunters, have of us. Most of the stuff you guys have on file is wrong, by the way. We need a Clan to survive both physically and emotionally. Especially for a fledgling. Being away from them –it was, I mean, it was bad. Really bad. ”

Her green eyes were so sad, and for some reason her unhappiness infuriated him.

“You were hurting,” she whispered, her voice cracked. She cleared her throat roughly before continuing. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

And, he couldn’t, he couldn’t lie to her. He was so tired of lying to her, to himself.

(To Raphael.)  

“You keep forgetting,” his laugh sounded hollow, “that I’m a vampire. You keep forgetting that I am like these people that you hate so much. I know you care. I know you care so much. I saw it in the way you were willing to sacrifice yourself for the Downworld. But, Clary. You’d never love a vampire. Not if he didn’t have my face.”

And it’s sudden, the way the anger overtook him, sudden and burning –for himself, for Raphael, for his Clan. For everyone in the Downworld that was and will be the collateral damage of the Nephilim’s conceit.

“None of you would.” He went on, “I’m your exception –your, your freakin’ token vampire. Magnus is Alec’s exception. The shit Izzy pulled with Raphael? Clary, g-fuck, _fuck,_ if she’d done that to a Shadowhunter it would have been unforgivable. But none of you care –no one cares that she knew about his dependency and she still asked. She still kept coming back. None of you cared that Alec beat the shit out of him –if Magnus hadn’t stopped him, fuck. Shit! And you Clary!”

His chest rose and fell harsh with breath he didn’t even need.

“Clary, you are so good,” he spat, “so _kind_. But you were willing to let Madzie die until it affected you. You saved her, sure, whatever but it was not because she was just a kid and she had no one left in the world. But because it affected you.”

Speaking that particular truth out loud was too much for the both of them. Clary had that face, wide-eyed and trembling, just on the verge of tears. Simon dragged a shaky hand across his face.

G-d, he was tired. He was so fucking exhausted.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he whispered. “I don’t know where that even came from.”

“No, it’s okay. But, I have to,” she whispered, shaking her head frantically. “I have to leave. I have to go. Patrol starts soon –I have to.”

“Clary—

The door slammed after her. He listened to the quick patter of her feet as she ran out of the hotel. He was left alone. She left him alone. Simon slumped down to the floor, face in his hands.

The sob that crawled out of his throat made him feel absolutely pathetic.

Their breakup _sucked_ , like it was so fucking bad, but this? He felt like he finally lost her, for good.

“Simon,” said the miracle voice.  

“I’m okay,” Simon croaked. He didn’t want Raphael to see him like this. He didn’t want him to question Simon’s loyalties –not after everything. There was no question of loyalty here. It was _Clary_ for fuck’s sake. “I’m okay. I’m okay—

Raphael settled down beside him, close, too close, not close enough.

“Can I touch you?” he questioned, quietly.  

Simon’s breath hitched on a shuddering sob. He nodded helplessly.

Raphael pulled him tightly into his arms, nearly into his lap.

“Está bien,” he whispered into Simon’s hair. He rubbed comforting circles into Simon’s back over and over and over, sure and methodical. “Está bien, mi amor.”

(It doesn’t register, not in that moment, not when the Clary-shaped hole in his chest threatened to actually kill him dead. All Simon knew was that he’d lost his best friend. All he knew was that he died less than six months ago and she still walked away from him when he needed her most.)

“Raphael,” he shuddered, panicky and small. “I can’t do this without her. I can’t—

“Hush,” Raphael whispered. “Hush, Simon.”

“I can’t,” Simon gasped, clutching painfully tight at Raphael’s back, probably ruining his shirt. “I _died –_ I died and she doesn’t care, she does—

Raphael pressed his lips to Simon’s temple, “You’re not alone. You’re not alone.”

When he woke up, hours later, Raphael was still curled tightly around him, fast asleep. They hadn’t moved from their spot on the floor, and it was far from perfect. Simon felt like someone had ran him over with their car, still felt like he’d never forgive Clary or the Nephilim but, wow. Wow.

It was something pretty close.

~*~*~*~

It had been three days. Three days since.

What happened quickly stopped feeling like the end of the world but Simon still felt bruised.

There was yet another meeting scheduled at the Institute and as the Clan’s representative, he had to attend. But he wished the skies would open up and G-d would smite him before he had to face Clary and the others alone. Safe to say, he was shocked when he made his way out of the hotel that night and had Raphael fall into step beside him.

Simon blinked, “What’re you doing?”

Raphael adjusted his cuff links carefully, “They finally gave in and scheduled the meetings at a reasonable time. It wouldn’t look, uh, very appreciative of me if I didn’t show up to a meeting or two.”

Simon felt a wave of intense appreciation for Raphael hit him.

“’Kay,” he replied, grinning like a goof. “I hope you’re ready for hours of useless droning.”

“I have to listen to you all the time, don’t I?”

It would’ve stung if it weren’t for the playful wink Raphael sent his way, the cute little smirk playing at his lips.  

The meeting was, as expected, an absolute waste of their time.  

Simon was very careful throughout to not let his eyes stray towards Clary. Every time he felt like his eyes might meet her gaze, Raphael would lean into his space just so and doodle stupid cartoons of whichever Shadowhunter was nearest to them.

A G-dsend, Raphael was.

“Go on,” he said to Simon as soon as the meeting ended, “I have to something to take care of. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

“I can wait—

Raphael reached forward and casually adjusted Simon’s collar, “No need, baby. Go home and help Lily set up for movie night.” 

Simon frowned at Raphael’s quickly retreating figure and quietly followed him because fuck that shit. He watched, confused, as Raphael approached a wide-eyed Clary.

She turned to Jace and Izzy, “Could you guys give us a moment, please?”

“You sure?” Jace asked, quietly.

Raphael rolled his eyes. Clary sent a look Izzy’s way that had her pulling her brother towards one of the exits.

“If this is about Simon—

“It is,” Raphael cut her off. “You’ll do well to be quiet and to listen to what I have to say.”

He waited for her to nod before going on.

“You fucked up,” Simon and Clary both blinked in surprise, “but I have no doubt Simon will forgive you. You are many things, Clarissa. Arrogant, conceited, reckless, selfish—

“I get it,” she snapped, “I get it.”

“But you love Simon,” he went on, “and despite myself, I can’t help but see that as a redeeming quality. I don’t have much faith in Shadowhunters, but, you. Your friends. You’re different. I believe you have the ability to make a difference. Despite how epically you’ve screwed up recently.”

“Thank you,” Clary whispered. “About Simon—

Raphael brushed away her thanks and went on relentlessly. 

“Do you have any idea what you did to him? His best friend.” he whispered lowly. Simon strained to listen. “If you hurt him again I swear to all that is still good in this wretched world, Clarissa Fairchild, I will end you. Fuck alliances and bright futures. I swear I will end you.”

Simon watched, entranced, as Clary raised a defiant chin and stared Raphael down.

“I’ll do better,” she finally whispered. “I swear I’ll do better by him, by everyone.”

“You’d better,” Raphael replied, furious. “You don’t know me at all. If you think I don’t have sway, please, _please_ try me. Please find out how much power I still have with the Nephilim.”  

Clary’s head tilted slightly. Simon knew that look as well as he knew his own face.

“You’re surprisingly protective of him,” she mused, “considering you wanted him dead a few weeks ago.”

Someone cleared their throat, Simon whirled around, caught in the act—

Alec expectant face stared back at him.

“Simon,”

“Alec,”

He stood like a soldier –back straight, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

“Clary told me about the, uh, conversation the two of you had a few days ago.”

_Oh._

“I want to apologize,” he went on, earnest and sincere like Simon had never seen before. “For ever making you feel like your nature made you anything less than Shadowhunters. It was wrong and disgraceful.”

He looked down at his feet, face twisted in thought.

“I was brought up a very specific way,” he said, “I’m not using that as a justification for the way my family and I have acted. But, just, I’m asking that you be patient, just until I can get better control over the Institute. We have a lot to unlearn. A lot of bridges to rebuild. So, for starters, I’m sorry. I promise to do better, especially now that I have the power to do so.”

Simon gapped at him, “Um, okay. Holy shit. Apology accepted.”

“Cool,” Alec grinned boyishly, but quickly sobered. “And, about Magnus. About me tokenizing him—

“Alec, I was out of line—

“No,” he shook his head, “it wasn’t. I mean, you were out of line and you definitely aren’t privy to my relationship but you weren’t wrong. I talked to Magnus about it and—

He wrung his hands together, in a display of nervousness that made Simon suddenly very, very fond of him.

“You weren’t wrong,” he said again, deflated. “I have a lot to work on. A lot.”

Simon made his way out of the Institute in a daze. Both conversations –the one he’d overheard and the one with Alec felt surreal.

 It wasn’t long before Raphael followed him out.

“Why are you still here?” he frowned, “I told you, you didn’t have to wait.”

Simon shrugged and drank in the sight of him.

Raphael was gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. And he’d just come back from defending Simon’s honor –it was a lot, so much to take in. He was so much to take in. In a display of brazenness, he threw an arm around Raphael’s shoulders and grinned down at him. “Wanna go for milkshakes? My treat.”

Raphael rolled his eyes heavenward, “You’re using the Clan’s money, Simon.”  

Simon grinned widened impossibly, “You know, you keep rolling your eyes like that and they’ll get stuck.”

He didn’t miss the way Raphael didn’t push him away. Didn’t miss the small smile playing at his lips. Didn’t miss how well they fit together –puzzle pieces.

~*~*~*~

Clary found him the next day, because of course, of course—

She stood nervously at his doorway. He could hear her frantic heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Hey,” she said, “you got a minute?”

He nodded numbly and gestured for her to step inside.  

“I talked to Raphael yesterday—

“I know. I heard you guys,” Simon said, “at the Institute. What he said to you.”

“Oh.”

“He doesn’t mean what he said,” Simon said quietly. “Raphael wouldn’t hurt you. Or anyone. He’s just, you know, Catholic. Dramatic.”

She snorted weakly.  

“Anyways,” Simon shook his head, “did you need something?”

Clary smiled sadly.

“I wanted to talk,” she started. “About what you said the other day.”

“It’s fine,” he replied dismissively. “It’s done, Clary.”

“No. No, it’s not.” she faced him head on. Brave, brave Clary Fray. “I’m sorry it took me so long to actually come here to have this conversation. But you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I wanna do better. By you. By Raphael. By everyone. I swear. I will do better. We can’t –Simon, there will never be progress in the Shadow World if I –if people like me, if Shadowhunters, don’t learn.”

He clenched his jaw –he didn’t trust Clary anymore. Simon literally didn’t know who he was.

“I wanna do better,” she said firmly. “I want to stop, you know, white-savioring the Downworld.”

Simon’s laugh punched out of him unexpectedly. “Okay, Jesus Christ. That’s a start, I guess.”

They talked.

For hours. About prejudice. About pain. About the way Simon had nightmares of Valentine’s blade slitting his throat. About the way Jocelyn used to say _werewolf_ with disdain despite claiming to love one. They talked about the way Shadowhunters could do better. They talked about what the future could look like away from the fanatic teachings of Valentine and people like him –even the rhetoric of people that thought they were well-meaning when they lightly discussed Downworlder impulses and desires as if they were animals meant to be controlled.

They talked, and the crack in their foundation, the one that had been so clear just days ago, no longer seemed so devastating. Not when Clary took notes in a journal to share with Alec and the others back at the Institute.  

“Okay,” Clary exhaled. “Now tell me about Raphael.”

Simon twitched. Clary’s voice was too loud and even those who weren’t trying to listen probably heard her. They had been having a crucial conversation, a conversation that needed to happen between the Shadowhunters and the Night Children which meant that Raphael had probably honed in on them hours ago. That usually wouldn’t bother Simon at all. There were no secrets here, not anymore –especially between Simon and Raphael.

Except for this one.

He looked at her, at his best friend, with wide, frightened eyes. Willing her to understand that this wasn’t something he had the ability to speak into existence just yet. This wasn’t a truth he wanted to share –not when the potential loss was so catastrophically great. Not when he could lose Raphael.

“Be brave,” she whispered, clutching his hands. “Be brave, Lewis. You’re gonna live too long to ever be a coward. Be brave.”

Clary had been the brightest light in his life, yes, absolutely. But Raphael? Since waking up as a vampire, there wasn’t a single moment in Simon’s undead life –good or bad, tragic or wonderful— that Raphael didn’t color gorgeous, gorgeous with his presence, with that smirk that always played at his lips, with the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders. They’d both done each other so wrong, so many times. Yet, there was still hope. There was still mercy and forgiveness.

There was still Time and Time was forgiving, despite everything.   

“I love him,” Simon told her simply. “I don’t know when it happened Clary but I feel like –this is the cheesiest shit I’ve ever said in my life, but like, I feel like my fucking soul recognizes him. I feel like I’ve met him in every single life I’ve ever lived and I’ve loved him every single time. Like, like I get lightheaded around him. He looks at me and just, nothing matters. Because he’s there and he’s safe.”

“Oh Simon,” Clary whispered.

“He cares about everyone so much,” Simon went on. He was nearly frantic with it –now that he could, he couldn’t stop the spill of words out of his mouth. “It keeps him up. He thinks we don’t know, but we do. Raphael thinks we don’t know what he does for us. He’s so good. He’s so kind. I just. I feel so blessed to just be around him. I feel like I won something just existing at the same time as him.”

Clary’s crying. Big, fat, happy tears. Wobbly smile and all.

“You’re right,” she said, voice mangled. “That is the cheesiest shit you’ve ever said in your life.”

He laughed, delighted. Simon felt light, light, light at his confession. Because even if Raphael didn’t return his feelings –there was only good here, and Simon would only ever wish goodness onto Raphael.

“Okay,” Clary wiped away her tears again with a laugh. “Okay, I have to head back.”

“Now?” Simon croaked, because he may not regret his confession but that doesn’t mean he can face the consequences of it just yet. “Now, now?”

Clary smacked a loud kiss to his cheek, “Text me after you talk to him.”

~*~*~*~

Lily’s bouncing on the balls of her feet; face alight with joy he’d never seen before.

“Oh, you beautiful boy,” she brought him down to her height by his ears and pressed smacking kisses onto his cheeks, much like Clary had done moments before. “You darling, beautiful boy. I knew you’d bring happiness into this place, I knew it.”

“I’m assuming you heard,” he mumbled. Simon’s skin buzzed with the potential of seeing Raphael. It’s out in the open –it’s liberating, exhilarating, and Simon wouldn’t take it back for anything.  

“We all heard,” she chirped, so happy. “And those who weren’t here for it will hear about it soon enough. I’ve sent out a group text.”

“Great,” Simon exhaled. “That is just great.”

“It’s wonderful! So wonderful. He heard too, obviously.” she grinned. “He’s now on the roof having an existential crisis about it.”

“Of course he is,” he groaned, “how bad? Gimme a number.”

Lily’s grin widened impossibly, “An easy nine, honestly. I haven’t seen him this worked up in decades. I thought he’d be the first vampire to ever have a heart attack.”

“Okay,” Simon rubbed his face roughly. “Okay, I’m going to talk to him. I should to talk to him, right?”

“Oh Simon,” Lily’s smile was absolutely radiant, Simon’s stomach fluttered at the sight of it. “This is the best thing. Of course you should talk to him.”

She held onto his hands tightly.

“Raphael’s been through so much,” she told him. “So much. He never thought he’d get something like this.”

He deflates at Lily’s words and nods firmly. Simon makes his way slowly up the endless flights of stairs –to give himself up at Raphael’s feet if need be. He opened the door slowly, ready, ready, ready—

Definitely a nine on the Raphael-existential-crisis-scale. Maybe even a ten.  

He’d taken off his expensive jacket and strewn it in a heap on the dirty ground. His sleeves were messily rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms that Simon gave himself a moment to take in. Raphael had run his fingers through his hair enough times that it was free from the product that usually kept it tame.

Simon drank in the sight of him. A miracle.

The moon loved Raphael. Absolutely loved him. That was the only explanation for the way the light caressed his face.  

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Raphael murmured, voice like velvet.

Simon imitated that soft little hum that Raphael did all the time. He wasn’t anxious, not about this, not anymore. He’d never been surer about anything in his life –nothing made more sense than Raphael did at this moment. Nothing made more sense than loving this man.

“Yeah, I know what I’m saying.”

“Simon,” Raphael said his name slow, slow, slow. “Don’t trifle with my –if this is some kind of joke – nunca te perdonaré por esto, I swear, Simon, I swear.”

“Were you listening at all?” Simon interrupted, “Jesus, Raphael, in what world would I do that to you?”

“The same one where you chose Clarissa,” Raphael whispered, voice furious. “The same one where you chose the Shadowhunters over your Clan.”

and, fuck, yeah. Okay. Okay.

“I’ll never,” Simon croaked. “I’ll never be sorry enough for that.”

“No, no, no.” Raphael brushed the words aside, “no, I know. I apologize, I don’t know why I brought it up again. This is your home.”

It’s silent, save for the sounds of the city around them.

The very air around them feels electric –still, Simon can’t find in himself to be anxious, not about this. Not when Raphael’s eyes were wide, wide, wide.

“I can’t,” Simon cleared his throat roughly, “I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again. I can’t –we were humans first, we’re going to screw up. I can promise you I will screw up, I will definitely screw up again. But I can also promise to make it up to you. To never hurt you intentionally, never again.”

Raphael’s face softened, the tightness around his mouth loosened his lips into a surprised _oh._

“You have to know that. You have to know that I would never –not again. I’m not Izzy,” he whispered. “I’m not a Shadowhunter. I’m still new at this, but, God. God.”

Raphael’s eyes widened. Simon’s throat burned something _awful_ but there it was.

There it was.  

“God,” Simon whispered, again, just for the sake of it, the salvation in the burn. “Raphael, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know you half as well as I want to, but I _want_. I want to. To know you, and l-love you. If you’ll have me, anything you’re willing, just if—

Raphael rushed forward, too fast, and wrapped his arms around Simon’s middle.

“I’ll have you,” Raphael rasped into his neck. “I’ll have anything you’re willing to give me, Simon. Anything.”

“Oh,” the breath rushed out of Simon, dizzying and exhilarating, and God. God. He wrapped his shaking limbs around Raphael –palms to back, fingers cards through the soft curls at this base of his neck. “Oh.”  

~*~*~*~

His mother will die.

Rebecca will die.

Clary will die.

But so will Simon. So will Raphael.

Everything ends –even vampires, even warlocks, even the Earth herself. One day the, even if by some miracle Simon and Raphael are still around, the sun will expand and swallow everything they know. The reality of that is both comforting and terrifying but it is the reality. Simon is doing a much better job at accepting it than he did all those years ago.

He watched the sunset–a privilege he was slowly embracing once more.

He breathed in the scent of the city around him and slowly made his way back to the room he shared with Raphael. Raphael was still asleep, face soft and relaxed against his pillow. His curls were strewn wildly about and Simon’s poor, old heart had yet to get used to that sight, even after all the years he’d had to soak it in.

Moving and unmoving, Time happened to the best of them. Good and bad.

He slid under the cool covers and pressed himself to his partner, grateful and content. A gentle kiss was pressed to his collar bone. The darkness was a sacred hush around them and Simon was grateful. Everlastingly, eternally grateful.

“Good morning, mi amor.” Raphael whispered.

He tangled his fingers deep into Raphael’s curls and pulled him closer.

“Good morning, Raphael.” He replied. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes,” Raphael wrapped his arms tightly around Simon’s middle, and pressed his face into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. “We have dinner with Magnus and Alec later.”

He sounded so despondent that Simon had to laugh quietly into the darkness. The rest of the Clan was only just beginning to wake, he could hear them stirring all around the hotel, their murmured greetings to one another.

“You sound ecstatic about it.”

Raphael raised his head to look into Simon’s eyes for a long, long while.

“I am,” he replied. “I’ve never been happier.”

Simon felt something large and painful lodge itself in his throat –a good hurt, the best kind of hurt.

“You giant sap,” he whispered hoarsely, “you cheesy dork. I can’t believe I have to spend the rest of my life listening to you wax poetry—

Raphael, the bastard, began tickling him.

They spent too long in bed that evening, giggling, pressing soft kisses into each other’s skin, and loving loving loving one another.

Everything ends, sure, whatever.  

Not this, though. This is eternal and no one can tell Simon otherwise.

/end.

~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :')


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